So Far Over
by SzarlotUK
Summary: An AU version of the story without any plot alterations. Hopefully a series of SeptimusXOC one-shot type things. Although i'm fully aware it's based on a book, this is based firmly on the film. My first fic - please be gentle.
1. Promises Made

**Promises Made**

'But where are you actually _going_?'

High in the castle, in lavish quarters of golden stone, a golden haired young woman almost stamped her foot in exasperation. She was not beautiful, but neither was she a hag; her nose was a tad overlarge and her eyes the green of ripe grapes, though in that light they were grey as quartz and just as sharp. Her splendidly plain dress bunched as she crossed her arms, leaf silk to match her gaze and a dark bodice to match her mood.

Before her a man toyed with a sword, twisting it in the air and striking the emptiness with concerning agility. _His_ hair was black as oak, his eyes glinted an emerald sheen of onyx. He wore black; black clothes, black boots, olive skin. Shadows swayed about him like a cloak.

His name was Septimus, and he was not a nice person.

He paused in his swordplay and raised his eyebrows as if her question was absurdly simplistic.

'To find the stone, of course,' he replied. His voice was deep, smooth, soothing; like the rolling waters that came before the sudden drop to the rocks below.

'Yes, but where will it be?' she enunciated every syllable as if addressing a dimwit. He sheathed his sword and answered in the same mocking tone.

'I don't know. It wouldn't be a quest other wise, would it?'

'Oh, I see. A quest.' she repeated gloomily. He smiled and moved towards her.

'You worry for me.' he stated softly.

'Of course I do, Lord. You are most precious to me, as a master and as a friend. You are,' she swallowed, 'everything.' She bit her lip, suddenly embarrassed.

'Your loyalty does you credit. As does your friendship.' He drew closer to her, unblinking. She felt the heat from him, and the damp tickle of his breath on her nose. There was a hot, hesitant silence.

'But suppose someone else gets there before you?' she blurted, breaking the moment. Septimus raised his gaze to the painted ceiling and turned away.

'"Someone", Isabel? I assume by "someone" you mean my brother Primus?'

'Not just him, it could- just a moment. Why did you not say Tertius?' Isabel Donner narrowed her eyes. Long ago she had learned that Septimus' words were never chosen by chance. He faced her, looking guilty.

'I did intend to tell you…'

'Oh, Sep! Why?' she wailed. 'I could understand Secundus, _forgive_ you Secundus, but what threat was poor Tertius?'

'He was my brother; therein was his threat. By the way, I'm glad to hear you call me that again, Bell…'

'Don't change the subject, Sep!' He sighed, and held up his hands in surrender.

'All right, I apologise. I apologise for killing Tertius. Am I forgiven?' Isabel pursed her lips but nodded, tartly. Septimus smiled.

'Good. What were you saying?'

'That anybody could get to this stone thing before you. A peasant could just happen upon it, or-'

'They won't.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'Because,' he laid a hand on the hilt of his sword, 'I will get there first.'

'Oh, well. That's all right then. That's fine. I suppose I'll just break out the bunting and organise the parade for your triumphant return as king, shall I?' she said in a voice of molten sarcasm.

'Actually, Bell, I was wondering if you'd like to come with me.' Bell blinked.

'With you?'

'On the quest. You could accompany me. We don't spend enough time together anymore-'

'You are very busy.' she defended him, flustered at the unexpectedness of his offer. 'Affairs of state, knocking off your remaining brothers…' Bell glanced up to see if he had caught her jest. She so longed to see him laugh as he once had, before the ghosts had begun to gather about his shoulders.

He laughed, loudly.

'Indeed. So what do you say?'

'Yes, a hundred times yes. It would be a great honour, and besides…'

'What?'

'I would worry too much if I didn't come with you. It would be torture to remain here at the castle, to sit and wait for your return. Wondering if you _would_ return.' She smiled shyly. 'I am your servant, my Lord. I swore never to leave your side unless ordered away, and I never intended to.'

'Excellent,' he took her hand and held it to his mouth, where he brushed a kiss over her knuckles, seeming not to notice her breath deepen and flutter, 'for I never intend to order you away. We ride in an hour. Meet me at the stables – and bring your knife.' He released her and strode across the floor. Over his shoulder he added: ' You may need it.'

Bell the serving girl watched Prince Septimus disappear through the heavy doors. She stood still for some moments, staring at the space he had just occupied with glazed, green eyes.

'Oh, Sep.' She murmured. Then she stepped over to an ornate chest of drawers set against the wall and pulled the topmost one open. Out of it she took a bundle of cloth, which she unwrapped to reveal a pretty little knife. Beautiful to look at, but still very much a weapon for stabbing people and killing them stone dead.

That had been one of the first things her Prince had taught her when he had given her lessons on life; just because something is attractive and harmless looking doesn't mean it should be trusted. Trust nothing, and nobody but him.

'An "adventure".' Bell pondered. 'God preserve us all.'

*


	2. As A Brother

**As A Brother**

Bell watched Prince Primus ready his coach, and wondered when it was that he had become inhuman.

He himself had not changed; he was still as thin, as watery, as kind as he had always been. There was fifteen years between him and Septimus, and so he had forever been the good older brother – mender of broken toys, an ear to a thousand childish schemes. When Una had been taken Primus had become more of a father to the still young Septimus and his unruly brothers than the Old King himself, who was always cold. The King was by that time already dying; he had been dying for the last forty years, poised to join his ancestors but unable to pass out of frustration and disappointment at the continued survival of his sons.

Primus was the only one of the last six brothers who ever paid any attention to Bell – in life, that is – although Quartus could hardly be faulted on that point, as he was dead long before Septimus took notice of her.

Primus saw the friendship that was blooming like a fetid rose between Septimus and the serving girl, and he knew enough of his brother to be wary of it. Several times in the past he had tried to make her see as he saw, to distrust Septimus as everyone else did. She would listen politely to his gentle words, and then completely ignore his warnings.

Luckily, Septimus proved Primus wrong, whether through design or chance, and Bell never came to any harm. She would smile at the eldest prince, and for a few years counted him as a friend. Then Quintus was found with an axe cleaved to his skull, and Bell knew she could care for only one brother, for one would surely kill the other in the end. So she took to thinking of Primus as no longer a person, not human as Septimus was human, and thoughts of morality were locked away to preserve her own sanity. To be in love with a monster, she learnt, meant one had to completely ignore the definitions of monstrosity.

As she stood lost in thought Primus turned and spotted her in the doorway. For a moment Bell feared he would order her away, but instead he smiled weakly and gestured for her to approach.

'Isabel Donner, isn't it?' She nodded that it was. 'I haven't seen you about the castle recently – I must admit I was a trifle worried.'

'I am quite well, Lord. May I extend my condolences on the tragic death of your father … and my Lord Secundus … and my Lord Tertius.'

Primus sighed and rubbed his forehead, regret written across his face. In that moment Bell longed to wrap her arms about him, to stroke his greying hair and look into his pale eyes and comfort him as best she could. She didn't.

'Of course. Thank you. But what brings you to the Royal Stables?' He sounded bitter. 'I suppose you shall be seeing Septimus off on his journey.'

'No, indeed, Lord. I shall be joining him on it.' Primus looked horror-struck.

'Surely, you jest?'

'No, Lord. Truly. My Lord Septimus asked if I would like to accompany him, and I accepted.'

'Why, he has gone too far this time!' he snarled, aghast. 'This quest has no place in it for a girl like you. You must decline him.'

'But Lord!' Bell pleaded. 'I will be in safe company. I will have Septimus by my side –'

'Ha! Very safe.'

'Please, Lord! No ill will. I respect you enormously, and if it was not Septimus' will I would obey you in a heartbeat, but…' Bell lowered her gaze, and Primus seemed to calm a little.

'Isabel,' he looked intently into her eyes, as if just by staring hard enough he could bend her resolve, 'you are a good girl and I don't want to see you harmed. I have no doubt that Septimus will protect you as best he can, but he has an unfortunate habit of dragging violence and cruelty behind him everywhere he goes. As his brother I know this to be true. As a brother – once upon a time – to a little sister, I implore you to remain at the castle.'

Bell was surprised that he spoke of Una; she was not mentioned by anybody, except Septimus, to whom no subject was too painful to be broached. She took his hands in her own, took a deep breath, and tried to find the words. She could not. Instead she squeezed his hand, quirked her salmon lips into a sad smile, and walked away. Primus stood beside his coach, and blinked away the sheen of tears. He saw Una in the slim girl who strode into the light.

Outside, Bell joined Septimus beside his dark steed. He lifted her up onto the horse and climbed up behind her. She did not question his decision that they share a mount, and he did not ask why her cheeks were wet and her eyes were on fire.

*


	3. Blue? Unexpected

**Blue? Unexpected**

Septimus stood amongst the icy waves, glowering out to sea. Bell lingered a little way from him. She knew what was about to happen, and loathed herself for it.

'Your highness, the soothsayer, as you requested.' Two soldiers dragged forwards a frail old man, the reader of the runes, who quaked despite his heavy coverings. Septimus did not turn.

'South you said, South we went. Still no stone. Do you now propose we start swimming?'

'Sire,' pleaded the soothsayer, 'I have merely relayed to you what the runes have told me. I can do no more.'

'Well, consult then again – wait.' The prince turned, the danger in his voice replaced with a sinister humour that chilled Bell's blood. 'Before we seek the stone, I have another question. Am I the seventh son?'

Whether the old man could sense the fissure widening before him, or whether he was relieved at the change in his master's tone, Bell could not tell. She herself could see far too clearly where Septimus was heading, and she wanted desperately not to watch her Lord's cruelty. She did, though, just the same. The soothsayer spilled the runes onto the ice and looked up.

'Yes.'

'Another question; is my favourite colour blue?' Again the runes were thrown.

'Yes.'

Septimus glanced round at his companions and leaned forward. Into the soothsayer's ear he whispered:

'Do I intend to take Bell for my wife when I am king?'

The soothsayer studied the runes.

'Yes, sire.' He replied. Septimus nodded. To Bell the last exchange was out of earshot, and she eyed the prince with suspicion when he spoke again.

'Has excessive begging or pleading ever persuaded me to spare the life of a traitor?'

The old man cast his runes once more.

'What does that mean?' asked Septimus. The soothsayer looked into his eyes and sealed his fate.

'That means no.'

'Good. Throw them again. This time throw them high.' The soothsayer did so. The little chips of bone tumbled through the air.

'Do you work for my brother?' growled Septimus, all traces of jollity gone. The soothsayer blinked. The runes fell. Bell closed her eyes.

She heard the sharp thump, the sigh of a freed life. The heavy thwack of a felled body. Then Septimus spoke again.

'So, do we continue West?'

Bell opened her eyes to see him fling the runes above his head, and she watched his hair whip about his face like the halo of some wicked angel. She kept her eyes on her master, and she didn't even glance at the still warm corpse that was crumpled at his feet.

*


	4. King! Almost

**King! …Almost**

Primus, or what had formerly been Primus, was slumped in the copper bathtub. He was naked, and the tub was filled with his blood. His brother stood over him.

'Well well well,' murmured Septimus. 'The last brother dead. Which means I'm king.' He turned to his companions on the straggly hill top, and yelled with elation. 'I'm king!'

His men knelt to him, hurriedly, and Bell bowed her head. He grinned at her in undisguised triumph.

'Not yet, brother,' said the shadow of Primus walking beside him. He wore a necklace of gore and no one but the winds heard his words.

'Damn, I still need the stone.' Septimus cursed, remembering the terms of the succession. Primus laughed, in the rustling of his brother's cloak.

'Your brother doesn't have it?' asked one of his soldiers. Bell winced. Septimus glowered at the man.

'Well, why don't you find out?' he snarled. The soldier looked wretched and trudged over to the body, sinking his arm into the sapphire stained water. As the prince moved towards his horse Bell saw something lunge out from underneath an upturned wooden chariot that had been tossed upon the ground. Before she could shriek the thing was clinging onto Septimus's foot. It was a red haired, undernourished looking young man. Septimus drew his sword and pressed it to the man's throat.

'Where's my stone?' he growled, in a tone suggesting that to not provide an answer would be an affective suicide. The man looked terrified and spluttered;

'I…I…oh, oh! The man – was he your brother – I heard him speak of a stone, yeah, the girl had it!' He seemed to grasp this knowledge like a raft in the middle of a stormy ocean. 'The girl had it.' Septimus frowned.

'What girl?' The man squeaked as the blade was pushed against his wispy beard.

'I don't know, a girl! She got away because this was a trap set up for her but your brother, he just sort of come right into it…'

'A trap? Set by who?' The man looked even more scared than he already had, and shuddered.

'A woman you should pray you never meet. She's gone, she took your brother's carriage.'

'This woman wanted _my _stone?'

'No, she wanted the girl's heart. She said the girl was a star and she wanted to cut out her heart and…' The man faltered.

'Eat it.' Septimus finished for him. His eyes were beetle bright and alien to Bell in his familiar face. His lip curled, revealing the quirk in his front tooth, a gesture she knew well. He was excited; a plan was blossoming. 'Oh my God. Do you have any idea what this means? Everlasting life. King forever.' He got up and pulled the young man to his feet. The soldier who was fishing in the bathwater stood and shook his head.

'Not here, sire!' he said.

'This idiot's coming with us,' barked the prince and he dragged the red haired fellow over to the horses.

Bell wandered over to the bathtub. She joined the crowd that was already there, the living beside the dead. She looked down at the body, cold and limp, and she reached out and, very gently, stroked the greying hair. Primus' shadow smiled at her, giving her thanks that she could not hear. Sextus rolled his eyes, and Quartus gave him a dig with his elbow.

Bell took one last, sad look at the prince who had been kind to her, and turned away. She went to join her master, and the hunt for the endangered star.

*


	5. Depravity Halved

**Disclaimer:**** I've been forgetting to put these in, but needless to say I am not Neil Gaiman. I wish I was, but that's the truth. Therefore I own neither Septimus nor any other character from Stardust. Thankyou.**

**Depravity Halved**

Bell sat in front of Septimus on his steed as they cantered along, and she chewed on her lip. He did not speak but she could tell his mind was fizzing and sparkling as a box of wasps. Her hair blew back across his face, into his mouth, but he did not react, which she took as an ill sign. After a while she spoke.

'If we do find this star, do you really intend to … you know?'

'Perhaps. It depends.'

'On what, exactly?'

'On whether there was someone I could share the heart with. Immortality would probably become a rather … lonely exercise.'

'And who would you ask?' She knew the answer, had always known it, but the question had to be asked. Otherwise the spell might break.

'Perhaps someone who has been my companion and loyal servant for more than a decade.' He spoke heavily, sharply, almost as if he did not care what she thought of the idea. Bell knew him well enough to guess – correctly – that he did care. Very much.

'Ah,' she said. There was nothing more she could possible add. Still, Septimus persisted, in a voice of measured indifference.

'What would her answer be, this hypothetical person?' Bell closed her eyes, and made her choice.

'I imagine her answer would be that she long ago vowed never to leave your side, my Lord. If that means for an eternity, so be it.'

She leant back against his chest, felt the warmth and safety of his body, and in that moment she didn't care at all that he had just suggested murdering a star for her heart. If he had suggested decapitating a unicorn she would have agreed with scarcely a thought. He was her Sep – her dark, warm, funny, magnificent Sep. Not a killer, not a prince.

He drew his arms around her, the seriousness of the act she had just agreed to painfully clear. As it was, he did not completely trust his voice, and so he simply kissed the top of her head. The lulling rhythm of the horses' steps soon made Bell doze, and the last thing she thought before sleep claimed her was that happiness came in the strangest, and most depraved, forms imaginable.

*


	6. He's Reliable Like That

**He's Reliable Like That**

The red haired young man sat huddled on the earth, knees to his chin and biting his nails. He was frightened, of course. He did not know if he was to be harmed, or killed, or worse – he winced at the thought – turned over to the witch again. However, he had spent much of the last few days as first a goat and then a woman, and although the dark prince and his men were less than friendly towards him, at least they were straightforward. At least they made _sense._

'Bernard?' He jumped at his name and twisted round. The fair young woman stood there, holding out a piece of bread. 'Eat this.' She was not unkind, but her eyes were troubled and she didn't really seem to see him at all.

Bernard took the bread and mumbled thanks, waiting until she was gone to begin tearing at it greedily. As he wolfed his meal down, he surreptitiously watched the woman. The quite pretty woman, he reflected.

The prince stood apart from his companions, head bowed, a raven in the shifting grass. The woman approached him carefully, and offered something – luncheon, most likely. Septimus took it and acknowledged her with a nod. She seemed to relax at this gesture and began to speak in a low tone that Bernard had no hope of hearing. Septimus shrugged, and turned away once more; evidently the matter was ended. She looked disappointed but moved away immediately.

Bernard looked away quickly but far too slow; she had seen him staring at their exchange. He concentrated furiously on the ground before him.

Presently, he felt her sit on a stone beside him. He swallowed.

'Do you fear for your life?' she asked suddenly. He looked up at her and nodded once.

'You needn't. Septimus will not kill you unless you anger him or stand in his way. He's very reliable like that. As it stands your death would neither satisfy nor benefit him, and so you are safe.'

'Oh,' said Bernard. It was all he could think of.

'Besides,' she continued, 'if he did propose killing you I would object quite strongly, and I'd like to think that he would listen to me.'

'Are you and he – forgive me, my Lady - ' Bernard fumbled in a linguistic quagmire. The woman smiled.

'I'm no Lady, just a servant. Call me Isabel.' She hesitated, and added: 'Although you best call me Miss, because I wouldn't want Septimus to take offence.'

'No, Miss.'

'Please go on with what you were saying.'

'I was just… I really shouldn't of. But I saw the way you looks around each other. And at each other. And I was just wondering, are you to marry?'

Isabel frowned, and gazed over at the figure of the prince.

'No, we are not to marry.' She seemed to choose her words carefully, and took a deep breath before continuing. 'He is a Lord of Stormhold, I am simply a serving girl. The Old King would never consent to such a queer union.'

'But I heard the Old King was dead.'

She looked at him then, and Bernard saw in her eyes the truth of the matter. He was simple, but simple isn't the same as stupid. He saw the misery, the worry, and the dreadful hope. Then it was gone, and she once again looked the picture of polite interest. He pursed his lips and shifted awkwardly.

'Errr… you're a serving girl?' he asked desperately when it became apparent that Bell wasn't leaving. 'A serving girl in a quest party?' She raised her eyebrows.

'Unlikely, isn't it? I joined the staff of the house of Strormhold fifteen years ago, when I was only nine – I wasn't even a serving girl then, just a serving girls' girl – and from the first time I saw him, I knew…'

She let her eyes fall closed and she saw herself, a small, scruffy child, hurrying to bow her head as the seven brothers passed and sneaking a peek up under her lashes at the youngest one. He was twenty then; strong, slight, silent. Unlike his brothers he made no attempt to appear good humoured or unthreatening towards his fellow princes. He personified quiet malevolence. He was handsome, cruel, and Bell loved him.

It hadn't been until she was fourteen years old and blossoming into awkward beauty that he had noticed her. When she was serving at table one night his hand has brushed hers whilst she refilled his cup, and she had recoiled; burned, elated. He had looked at her with his deep green eyes, and for the rest of the evening he gave only half an ear to Primus' musings, Secundus' course comments and Tertius' whining. Instead, he kept shooting glances at the nervous serving girl.

After that he began to greet her in the corridors. He asked her name, and was the first to call her Bell. She revelled in his attentions. They would take walks around the gardens together, away from interfering ears. For his part, Septimus seemed to enjoy their time together; he laughed loudly at her comments, and smiled often. When he delivered her back to the servants quarters, however, he would revert to solemn courtesy once more and she could scarcely believe the person he was when they were alone.

It was innocent, she was sure; he had his plans, but he never made her fearful or unhappy. He, completely devoted, entranced her. He taught her the ways of the kingdom, of the darkness, and the sweetness of the dark. When she was seventeen she was given the title of 'Personal Servant' and moved into lavish rooms in the most comfortable area of the castle. This new job was only an excuse for them to spent whole days in each other's company, and they relished the opportunity.

Of late, though, he had become more and more embroiled in matters of succession, as it were. She had been only thirteen when Quartus vanished. Sextus stopped appearing at table in her fifteenth year, Quintus in her nineteenth. Nothing much was said, and most just sighed and carried on with their duties. The Old King seemed not to care at all. When Bell asked Septimus about Sextus, he had smiled, touched her hair and said nothing. When Quintus died he had explained that that was the true way, the only way. Blood will out; as much of it as possible. The strong weeded out the weak, and the monarchy stayed strong. Bell had listened and nodded, and refused to even look at Septimus for a week. After that she scarcely blanched to think of the ghosts who would surely dance on her master's grave.

'And now,' she thought, 'the Old King is dead…' She suddenly realised that she had been sat still, eyes closed, for several minutes. She opened them to a glow of colour and Bernard, looking wretched.

'So sorry,' she said. 'Please, tell me your story. How did you come to meet my Lord Primus?'

'Well,' he licked his lips, 'up until yesterday I was a goat…'

*


	7. So Far Over

**Authoress Notes: ****Thankyou very much my two reviewers. I'm just writing this for my own entertainment really, and because I'm an incurable Mary-Sue.**

**So Far Over**

'Remember,' said Septimus, 'Captain Shakespeare has a fearsome reputation.' He shot a glance at Bell, and then signalled for his men to advance on the tethered ship. Bell watched them board, then retreated to a safe distance as she had been told to. From where she stood beside the water the _Caspartine _looked unimposing, meek almost. Bernard jumped off his horse and offered it to her.

'I'd rather stand, thank you. Pacing makes me feel better.' She hugged her arms around herself and began to walk up and down on the grass. Bernard shrugged and patted the horses' flanks; he had been ordered to watch the soldier's mounts whilst they stormed the pirates, and he was simply glad that he wasn't expected to fight.

'You'll get dizzy,' he commented.

'How do you think it's going in there?' she fretted. 'I can hear fighting, I'm sure of it.'

'Yes, me too, but I doubt it's a problem.'

'That was a scream! Did you hear that?'

'Someone probably just met your prince.' He stood besides her, looking to the _Caspartine. _In spite of herself she laughed, fondly.

'Yes, I dare say you're right.' Bernard looked at her.

'I still don't understand how you can love 'im so.'

'He's not that bad.'

'You didn't see what he did to that monkey man.'

'He thought he was mocking him.'

'He killed him without a thought, is what he did.' Bernard spoke softly, but a frown marred his brow. His thin frame shivered in the sun. Bell noticed and wandered over to the largest horse, rummaging in the saddlebag and producing a blanket. She tenderly draped it over his shoulders.

For a while there was only the breeze and the muffled sounds of battle over the waters. Then Bell spoke.

'Can I trust you, Bernard?' He swallowed.

'Of course, Miss,' he ventured carefully. A bird sang, unconcerned with the business of pirates and princes. The click of connecting blades and the lulling yells were distant and strangely peaceful.

'Sometimes I do have my doubts,' she murmured. 'Sometimes I think he's so far over the edge that he's approaching goodness from the other side.' Bernard wrinkled his nose.

'That's a funny way of looking at it.'

'I have to see it like that. I have to know that he _is _close to goodness, even if he's on the wrong side of it. He will be king soon, after all.'

'D'you reckon he'll make a good king?' She frowned.

'I don't think it matters. I mean, what is a good king? He'll rule, and maybe the decisions he'll make will make more people happy than not, and maybe he'll be remembered as great, but the king's the king who rules. All I can do is try to keep him.'

'Keep him what?' He was not at all sure he'd understood anything she'd just said.

'Just keep him, and when the time comes I shall stand with him. When the time … comes.'

Bernard was about to ask what she meant by that when they both heard a crash. Bell snapped her head round, mouth agape, to see a dark body smashing through the large window at the rear of the ship. All was silence; the fighting had ended. But Septimus and his mean were nowhere in sight. Bernard looked about him to see Bell already tearing up the waters' edge like a wild thing, dress flying like a green whirlwind and arms flailing desperately.

'Wait!' he yelled, and leapt up onto the white steed. Bell staggered to a stop a little way from the _Caspartine _just as something rose from the sea. Septimus emerged, treading water and spraying salt.

'Sep!' she called. He flailed around and spotted her there.

'Prince Septimus, your men … they're dead…' Bernard had ridden up behind her. Unlike Bell, who'd been too intent on reaching the prince to look to closely at the deck of the ship, he had noticed the bodies.

'Oh, really?' Septimus snarled, clambering onto the shore. He charged over to the horse and threw Bernard from the saddle. Before Bell could protest she had been hoisted up and Septimus was up behind her and they were riding away. She stared back over his broad shoulder and caught a last glimpse of the young man sprawled upon the grass, before they were too far gone and it was just the two of them, riding into eternity.

*

Primus and the others watched them go.

'I always quite liked that girl,' he mumbled.

'What was that blither she was spouting about kings?' snorted Secundus.

'I think it was philosophy,' said Quartus, 'so there's no point you trying to understand it.'

'What do you mean by that?' Secundus snapped. Primus let the argument bloom, and he and Quintus watched the red-haired young man pick himself up and set off home.

'What do you think, brother?' asked Quintus. 'Will Septimus be a good king?'

'I think,' began Primus, 'I think…' Bernard stumbled past them, unseeing, not hearing the ghostly squabbling behind him. Primus sighed. 'Come on. Let's follow them, before we miss anything interesting.'

They turned and vanished, and a moment later so did their brothers, and the breath of the wind was no longer the voices of the dead.

*

Bernard trudged away. He was a little disappointed that he's been parted from Bell so suddenly, but she _was _a bit strange, and at least the prince was rapidly moving away from him, and at least – he shuddered inwardly – at least he never had to see that awful witch again. At least he wasn't on four legs.

All in all, it could be worse.

*


	8. What You Should Have Been Watching

**Authoress Notes****: To spideydance – Actually, there's a bit more Bernard. Just a little, but I can't let him go!**

**What You Should Have Been Watching**

The house was in sight, if house it was, hacked from the rock like a great dark wound. Septimus tethered his horse a distance away and gestured for Bell to be silent, then took her hand. Together they approached the lair.

Bell's mind was alight with fear. She could scarcely believe that they were about to attack a witch, commit certain suicide for the sake of a necklace! Or, rather, Septimus would attack the witch; Septimus would be killed… She cursed the Old King, cursed the house of Stormhold, cursed Primus for not being there to help them, cursed herself for not dragging Septimus back days ago. He looked round at her with his emerald onyx eyes, questioning, reassuring. She nodded, once. There was no going back.

As they got closer they saw that someone else had gotten there first. A boy, slightly foppish in his high boots and shining hair, was looking in through a high window. Septimus let go of her hand and snuck up to him, then – quick as an eel – pressed a knife to the boy's neck.

'Who are you?' he demanded. 'What business do you have here?' The boy froze, but glanced down at Septimus' exposed hand. His eyes alighted on the number seven tattooed there.

'Septimus,' he stated, then in explanation: 'I knew your brother, Primus.' Septimus narrowed his eyes and moved closer.

'Unless you wish to meet him in the afterlife I suggest you answer my question; what are you doing here?'

'I might ask you the same thing,' the boy replied without flinching. Septimus looked down to see the boy's knife to his stomach.

'Ah,' he breathed. Carefully he removed his blade from the boy's throat; very, very carefully. There was a movement behind the boy, but he had his eyes on the prince and saw nothing. Septimus' own eyes flickered to the left of the boy's face, and he smiled.

'You have a keen eye,' he commented. The boy looked smug.

'But what you should have been watching,' murmured a voice in his ear, 'was the _other_ knife.'

The boy felt the point of something very unfriendly dig into his back. Septimus smirked.

'Put the butter knife down, lad,' he said. The boy moved it away from the prince's gut. Bell took it from him and stepped back. When the boy felt the unwelcome pressure be removed he looked around to see a pale woman with an air of grim determination about her angular face. She smiled, a little apologetically, which rather ruined the effect.

'Boy, this is Isabel, my servant. She has more than one weapon about her person so I would recommend you don't try anything creative. What's your name?'

'Tristran Thorn.'

'Good. Now, what have we here?' said the prince. The three of them turned as one and peered through the smeared glass. Inside the window they could see a large, cluttered chamber that looked as if it had been left to rot for centuries. A rather dumpy hag was berating a tired looking woman to the right, and in the centre was some sort of sacrificial altar – with a girl strapped to it. Two other crones busied themselves about her bindings. Isabel, Tristran and Septimus crouched down out of sight.

'There are four of them. Do as I say, we may stand a chance,' muttered the prince. 'Tristran, you come with me. Bell, you stay out here.' Bell swelled with protest.

'No!' she hissed. 'I'll help you, Sep.' He frowned darkly.

'Stay here. That's how you can help me. That is an order.'

Tristran saw the girl was about to argue and in desperation said:

'Why doesn't she stay in the doorway, in the shadows? That way she'll be with us but out of sight.' Septimus hesitated, and then nodded. Bell grinned. The two of them started to rise.

'Wait!' Tristran yelped. 'How do I know you can be trusted?'

'You don't,' answered Septimus simply. 'Why, do you have a choice?'

'No,' glumly replied the boy.

'Well then,' said Septimus, with a wicked gleam and a nod to Bell, 'let's go.'

It was to be the last time Septimus and Bell spoke in their lives.

*****

**I decided to go with the book spelling of 'Tristran' because I'm quirky like that.**


End file.
